


Exodus

by Hypatikar



Series: The Final Lessons of Vivec [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Action/Adventure, Calculating Vivec, Canon-Typical Nationalism, Character Study, Character-focused, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Empathetic Nerevarine, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Glacial-Paced Romance, Headcanon, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Canon, Sailing, Slow Romance, Spiritual, World Travel, mentions of past trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatikar/pseuds/Hypatikar
Summary: Old wounds can heal, doors left open may be closed, though time will move onward and the truth of its history is not found in those who have recorded its details, but those who have lived it. Following Vivec's exile from Morrowind, both he and the Nerevarine work to nurture the complex threads interwoven in their shared history and fate. Sequel to my story, "Trial of Vivec".
Relationships: Female Nerevarine/Vivec (Elder Scrolls), Nerevarine & Vivec (Elder Scrolls), Nerevarine/Vivec (Elder Scrolls)
Series: The Final Lessons of Vivec [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129571
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. Point of Puncture

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my post-canon conclusion to the fates of both Vivec and my Nerevarine. Although technically a spiritual journey of healing, a peculiar romantic love will develop between the two over the course of the story I have planned. I have take some liberties with headcanon, though I have not disrespected any official lore. My story, "Trial of Vivec", is a required read to properly understand the events taking place in this story. It is a relatively quick read, with not much more than 5,000 words. 
> 
> If there are any grammatical errors, I will do my best to fix them right away. If any readers find them or have any critique on the work or compliments on it, I would greatly appreciate hearing from you.

Ilsme took an hour to prepare herself before she left to find Vehk, whose current location she was almost certain of. No council member had noticed her leaving the chamber after Vivec's trial and subsequent disappearance, as they had been far too busy arguing among themselves. A smile crept onto her face at the thought of her people's intensely divisive and argumentative behavior, a trait foreigners did not understand. A trait that the Empire would doubtlessly use as an excuse to take some kind of action.

When she allowed herself to dwell on the future of Morrowind, a feeling of dread came to exact its dues. She was certain that the Empire would lose interest in interfering with Dunmeri politics after the fall of the Sixth House, and what was to come with Baar Dau, which would be the final plunge for the Dunmeri people to heal after millennia of living under the Tribunal's hegemony. Always, they must take the longest path toward wisdom. Such was their way, and like Vehk, she no longer had any interest in even attempting to change their minds. They would need to learn how to govern their affairs without either of them, for she would join Vehk in exile. Her reputation would be ruined for many years in Morrowind. The Dunmer had long memories.

The outfits she'd packed were shrunken down into the small, crimson bag that had been given to her by the Ashlanders. Books detailing the provinces and customs of Tamriel found their way into the bag as well, and she wondered if she wasn't over-preparing. Regardless, she would have to leave Morrowind, so she decided it was superior to be over-prepared rather than empty-handed. The gold and silver she'd saved from her many ventures through the province was also shrunken down using an obscure branch of Illusion magic, and stuffed into the little red, accented bag.

For years now, this had been her home. To leave was to formally enter a new era of her life, a new era where Voryn did not haunt her dreams both in waking and sleeping. Where the sight of Sil, burned and unrecognizable, hanging from the rafters of his own make no longer weighed on the fragile order she'd established in her mind's eye. A new era, where the part of her yearned to embrace Almalexia, whose beauty was terrible both in mortality and in godhood, and again, in death. The hegemony was over, and this would mark its final, symbolic end for her. For the people, it would take many years to recover from the intricate web of lies that the Tribunal wove. The web of lies, which had ironically led to the prosperity of their civilization, which was to be the only advanced society remaining from the Age of Mer.

Ilsme allowed herself one final glance at Vivec's temple, and the cloth that covered the magnificent statue which had been made in his likeness. Already, the Dunmer in this city were moving on, and she wondered when the rest would. A tear began to pool in her eye then, at the imminent death of what was once an astonishing empire to behold. The death of a golden age, the beginning of the New. She knew, however, that a thing could not be rebuilt unless it struggled. To collapse in grief at the symbol was to erase all the progress she'd made in appearance over her life, and thus, she turned away and did not let herself look back.

Vehk would be waiting for her, and so she wasted no more time in journeying there, spear and magic in hand. Ilsme was not always so talented with the spear until she became one with the voice of Nerevar, who was a master of the spear, not unlike Vehk. She had bested many opponents with her spear, others with her magic, which she'd trained in since she was young enough to do so. Elven mages were always prized in Cyrodiil's courts.

Making the trek back there was unsettling, even for one who fancied themselves as disciplined as she. Somehow, she _knew_ , she just _knew_ , that he would be there waiting for her. Ever the romantic was he, and she knew it had been this way since the beginning. An orphan who struggled in threadbare cloth and meager sustenance had only dreams, and those dreams were often blanketed with an esoteric abstraction, the contents of which could only manifest through poetry.

When she reached the entrance to Voryn's former stronghold, only then did she allow herself to hesitate for the first time that day. A series of breaths escaped her chest in rapid succession, her lips, lavender in color, becoming darker under the pressure of her teeth. The reminder of oneness, of final oneness with Nerevar, and the peace she'd made with his soul, was the only thing capable of calming her down. The regret of slaying Voryn would only haunt her for as long as she remained here, and though she'd cremated his body already, paying a visit to his final resting place, and the final resting place of the one she anticipated, Nerevar, was due.

 _The point of puncture_.

There was no sign of life in this stronghold now, the bodies of House Dagoth's loyal servants had passed into nothingness, the works of Ilsme, who had tried, and succeeded, to pay her respects to the once noble House of the elf Voryn had once been. Her victory over him had tasted of ash in her mouth, a bittersweet event, the only good coming from it being the liberation it brought. Slaying Voryn, the once proud elf whose loyalty to her and her predecessor endured millennia, had been no menial task. If she answered to the God that was once Vivec, she would've written a fine score of lines dedicated to such an event.

As it were, she had not the time to record her abstracted thoughts onto parchment, for being the Nerevarine was no title of wealth, but of responsibility. Ensuring the stability of the Great Houses had been a rather large priority for the first couple months after Voryn's defeat and Vivec's descent from power. There had also been the matter of Almalexia, a large process that had seemed ironically very small after the matters with House Dagoth. All of these things, she thought over as she descended into the depths of Voryn's fortress once again, knowing exactly the spot where Vehk would be found.

In due time, did she finally find the back of his head, which was now wholly gray in appearance, for he embodied duality no longer. The lies had already been told ages ago. He stood over the remnants of the Numidium, still and his eyes fixed on the chasm below. He did not seem to notice her watching him, but she did not doubt that he knew she was here. While not a demigod anymore, Vehk was both ancient and studied in sorcery of all kind.

 _The point of puncture_.

"You knew I would find you here, Vehk." She finally spoke, filling the silence that had been intermingling with Dwemer machinery, an awful, churning sound.

He did not immediately respond, and she knew that like her, a wave of wistful sentiment had washed over him at the sight of this ancient dwelling. This was where Nerevar died, after all, and where Voryn too, had lost his life – twice. His lips parted long before any words were spoken, which marked the first time she'd seen serenity in his body language once again, since Voryn's death. Consequentially, she prepared herself for a well-rehearsed lie that never came.

"Rivulets of yesteryear water the parched halls of this ancient dwelling where it will remain isolated forever, while a colorless form sits upon the throne of tomorrow. We shall not see their like again, Ilsme." Came his words, and a solemn moment of understanding passed between the two as she mulled over the meaning of what was said.

Such was the way of Vehk, who had always been one who brooded secretly. His deliverance of prose mesmerized most with ears to listen, although this language had lost its power on Ilsme, who had long ago mastered it also.

"We both knew Voryn to be an elf of honor, as strange as the concept may be to our people." She spoke, making her way to stand beside Vehk, thought not too closely. "Watching him gasp his last breath as he left the clutches of this world, his hands grasping my arms, pleading… for something that is still speculative. When finally, the moment had come, there was no sorrow for him. He had bequeathed that burden onto my shoulders, and I do not believe he mourned his own passing. No, we shall not see his like again."

Covering Vehk's body were still the jewels and finery of his former status, echoes of an era bygone as of now. His eyes were like glittering rubies, made brighter by the glow of flowing lava below. Vehk was also unarmed, she noticed. His spear of great renown had been left behind, likely deemed an unnecessary indulgence by the same ones who exiled him from his own country.

Instead of waiting for Vehk to speak, she continued on with her piece, as she had witnessed the terror and excellence of the one who once dwelt here only recently. The elf whose name was Dagoth Ur to the many, but Dagoth Voryn, to the two.

"You should have seen him then, Vehk. You should have witnessed what had become of him. He was no longer himself, he had perverted duty into insanity. When I tore his mask off, and looked him in the eyes, I did not see any trace of Voryn… at first. But when I looked beyond the perversion, the corruption, the pain, there was a shining light in those depths, that shone even in the darkness. It was the last piece of him, a piece buried so deeply that I do not believe even he was aware of it. In that light, I saw one who begged for release at the tip of a spear. In that light, there was an awareness beyond the confines of ordinary awareness, that knew he'd gone too far, to the point where there was no return. It was this light that begged for death, and I did oblige this request."

"I would have told you before, had I the heart to. You possess an impeccable capacity for mercy, Ilsme. Suffice to say, I would not have granted him the mercy of a clean death. You and I have known him differently, and it is intriguing to witness how these differences have been made manifest in this hour of shared grief. I have not felt the hurt of past wounds in an age before now. Every moment spent with you is a moment encased in bitter, and at times, sweet, irony." His voice had lost its reverberating echo, though it was still powerful enough to strike a chord within her being. He was a captivating speaker, though she knew now that he was not using it to seduce.

It was a rare moment of calm between them, a moment of acceptance and not denial. She approached him then, and touched him for the first time in this body, the first time in thousands of years. His head turned in her direction only minutely, but she knew that he was sizing up her next action and planning his own in the event that action was necessary. Otherwise, his gaze remained fix on an uncertain detail before him, which she could not see, and did not try to either. Her small hand, with its long fingers now softened by the months of statecraft and parchment, splayed on the soft, silky skin of his arm, and a moment later, she held his hand in hers. Vehk did not immediately react or stiffen, nor did he speak for several moments.

The animosity which existed for what felt like an era, passed into nothingness with the touch of skin, and likely the only apology she would ever receive from him, the only recognition he would ever give to his most grievous of sins, which was murder, be it intentional or unintentional, of a friend. Nerevar's spirit was indeed murdered, though the death of his body was the only missing link in her memories of him. What is clear, is that while Vehk was unapologetic toward the idea of achieving something diabolical in the name of the God, Ambition, there was a part of him which was remorseful that it had to be Nerevar who stood in the way of he and his splendorous vision.

Ilsme had meant what she said at his trial, when she'd said that it did not matter if Vehk played a part in the murder of Nerevar, for Nerevar's spirit was murdered long before his physical form was.

"It is a strange thing, to be one with the ephemeral again. When I was a youth, I wanted to be as incandescent and undying as the sun, but even the sun surrenders to the moon… every night, thus far." He said, a small smile, both natural and sad, tugged at either side of his supple lips and finally did he take his eyes off of the point ahead of him, and peering down at their conjoined hands, said, "I have been made aware of freedom since last I looked and saw the architect of creation, and discovered that there is a truth behind all lie. Only now, am I able to breathe freedom through my lungs, and exhale liberation. For the first time in a lifetime, I feel directionless. And… it is liberating."

The small part of her still sovereign from Nerevar wondered if he grieved Ayem and Sil, though was reminded that they did not want grief. Where were they now, she wondered? Could they see the reunion of she and Vehk? And if they could see, did they smile?

A rush of lava below brought a hot stream of air past her brow, and her snowy hair blew in the heavy breeze. Her gaze fell to the urn holding Voryn's ashes, the urn she was unsure what to do with now. Voryn was an impressive mystic, whose body had unbelievable abilities to rejuvenate and heretofore unknown abilities that could prove meddlesome, even though he was no longer with the living. The wisest choice would be to carefully spread his ashes in the sea that spanned the distance between Vvardenfell and the mainland. She wondered if Vehk would aid her in this.

"It is only right that we be here together one last time, Vehk." She said, though it was more of a random chain of thought than a reply to his previous words, a sign that the walls that were placed so high between them were coming down. Or rather, that they were learning to climb them and make peace with their height. "Where will you go?"

He no longer watched their hands, his gaze was now focused on her face, and though she no longer felt threatened by the mer, she had to steel herself from getting lost in its beauty. Vehk's eyes narrowed in a haze of emotions – thought, confusion, wistfulness. At the last moment before he spoke, a touch of humor stole the heavy, brooding look on his beautiful face, his next words causing both of them to laugh.

"Somewhere that does not have volcanoes." He answered.

"That omits most of the east. I propose something different." She replied, raising the hand that was free and lifting a finger in a gesture she often used when persuading a crowd, "Come with me, Vehk."

"A most tempting offer for old time's sake, hmm? I believe I shall.. there is much to experience yet, in this new form."

For awhile, they stood together overlooking where Akulakhan once lay. Both of them thought of the same, that two mer of impressive caliber lost their life in this place, and that for many years, there was no rest for their anguish. Now, however, both were harmonious once again, in death. _Yes_ , Ilsme decided, _they would all smile_.

"There is one last thing we must tend to, and then I believe we should sail immediately." She said, taking her silvery hand from his own and wandering over to the lone urn that stood proudly next to the mask of its owner's ashes.

Her hand brushed the mask of pure gold, feeling the thrum of magic emanating from it even now. It would be of the highest degree of disrespect to leave it here or throw it in the ocean, but it would also be irresponsible to allow anyone else to lay a hand on it. Grasping the mask, she held it firmly in her hand and carried the urn in the other, unsure of what to do with her spear. The practical side of her did not want to make a second trip back into the Red Mountain, and thankfully, Vehk spoke up.

"I will bear the burden of your spear." Was all he said as they left the burning heat of the chamber together.

The journey back outside was silent, for there were no more words to say until they would make their leave from Vvardenfell. As Ilsme had intimate knowledge of the geography by now, it did not take long for them to reach the Bitter Coast. Vehk trailed behind her, spear supporting his movements, and though she'd yet to see him fight, the way his body moved with the weapon was astonishingly natural, as he supported it on his shoulder, and not upright as she and many others often did. It was a queer image, to see him follow instead of lead.

It was nearing dawn now, and she realized that both of them had been awake for longer than a day, and that she had not felt the tug of fatigue one bit. A few exhales escaped her when she bent forward to the untouched, solid soil overlooking the Inner Sea, with a new dawning on the horizon. With a clean, linen cloth she had in her small, enchanted bag, she covered the golden mask, and began using her own hands to dig the soil. A few minutes later, she was surprised to see that Vehk had joined her, leaning down and placing his own hands in the dirt. The significance of the gesture was not lost on her, and the healing of their friendship was now marked and cemented by this moment. His eyes met hers momentarily, and a look passed between them that could have lasted a second or a minute, or perhaps even a year, and neither had to speak – for both hearts felt the same in this moment.

No matter what Vehk had thought of the Sharmat (he'd made his thoughts very clear at one of their past meetings), Voryn had been a trusted friend once, and a rival that deserved high honors. She did believe him, and expected even, when he mentioned he would not have given him a clean death – but Vehk was not the kind to mock the dead, even when he and his brethren told their greatest lie, the lie that had shrouded Nerevar's death in mystery. Perhaps that, to him, was honoring Nerevar, spinning a web of lies to create a tale of a glorious death that was in reality so bereft of glory.

With their hands now covered in the dark soil of the Bitter Coast, did they finally bury the mask and cover it in the hopes that no one would find it. A ward was not placed over top the shallow grave, for that would alert any mages of a significant artifact buried within. Her lips found the soil a moment later, placing a chaste kiss atop it, reminiscent of the kiss she'd placed on Voryn's forehead in his final moments. Vehk watched the exchange with a strange look written on his face, a look she'd never seen before on the mer. His brows were drawn, and a moment later, the look was replaced with a blankness she was beginning to learn was his primary expression when in his mortal form. One final look at the site of the buried mask, and her feet took her closer to the spot of ground overlooking the sea ahead.

The ash looked no different from any other's, but it was, and no one would ever know that the ashes of Dagoth Ur lined the Bitter Coast's Inner Sea. The secret would remain with she and Vehk, a secret they would keep wherever their journeys would find them. Vehk watched her spread the ashes along the surface of the water, his gaze intense though his face vague and expressionless, as his eyes followed the particles of ash falling to the sand below. Though his passionate hatred for the Sharmat was clear, his love for the mer that he once was, drove him to endure the bittersweet parting of an old friend. Truthfully, they were the only ones left with memories of an age now forgotten.

He said nothing as he handed her back her spear, but she did, and when she addressed him, it was not about Voryn.

"You will need a change of attire, I believe, if you are to pass as a lowly mortal."

"You, of all people, should know by now that there is nothing lowly about mortality." Came his response, but nonetheless, he began to strip his person of the jewels he'd worn in his godhood, and she smiled at the sight of him thinking nothing of throwing them in the sea where they'd laid Voryn to rest.

Though a mer of symbol were they both, neither cared much for finery beyond the emblem it represented to the people, and consequentially, to the universe. A secret smile stole at Vehk's lips as he discarded the jewels and the gold-adorned clothing he wore, leaving him in little more than a loincloth by the end of his tirade. A breathy laugh escaped her at the sight, a true laugh like the one she'd uttered when Vehk disappeared at his own trial. Always, he did not allow himself to indulge in moderation. Everything was done in excess and passion, even when symbols of said excess and passion were being removed.

Ilsme borrowed him a robe, not unlike the stitching and color of her own, which was a thin, silver material long enough to cover his tall stature. It reminded her of an image that Nerevar had of Vehk, when Vehk was still not more than a crafty street urchin, though his robes then were much more threadbare and of an inferior make.

"We shall have to find you a spear of equal make to mine, serjo. It would not do for the famed Warriot-Poet to be without an arm. I believe we should travel shortly for Hla Oad, and sail across to the mainland until we cross a ship that can carry us to a still uncertain destination of our liking. There are friends of mine in Hla Oad who would gladly offer a small boat to us, whom I am sure have not yet heard the news that it was I who pardoned you, and if they have, I am almost certain they will not care."

Although now beginning to feel fatigue in her muscles, Ilsme knew that they would find no rest until they arrived in the port city of Ebonheart on the mainland, a journey that would take nearly half a day to complete from Hla Oad. Said village loomed in the horizon as she led them there, Vehk following behind her still. The sun was rising quickly in the sky, and soon they would be out on the water, and the voyage would wash them completely of the sorrow that clung to them on this island.

Baleni Salavel, the smuggler and captain of the _Harpy_ , beamed when she took in the sight of Ilsme and unbeknownst to her, Vehk. Ilsme had turned a blind eye to the operations of Hla Oad, and had benefited the pockets of its inhabitants greatly by hiring many passages to other coastal towns of Vvardenfell. So easily could she have reported them to the Great Houses who loathed the smuggling of skooma, but she had not. These lucrative, underground activities of her people were what allowed the impoverished to prosper and enjoy a culture that was wholly their _own_ , and not the property of the very wealthy and powerful.

Switching to Dunmeris, Ilsme said to the other Dunmer woman, " _I must ask you one last favor, sera, before I part from this country entirely. A small boat is what I require, and I have ample coin for the boat that shall likely never return to these shores._ "

Baleni replied in Dunmeris, " _If a small boat is all you need, then I don't see the reason to charge you, Nerevarine. You have done enough already. I guess you can take it as a parting gift, for the wonders you've done for our little economy here._ "

The rough Dunmer woman led her to a small vessel made of wood, with two oars on opposite ends. Despite its small size, it was not of poor make. A streak of regret found its way to Ilsme as she knew the fine little boat would likely never be on these shores again, for it would be consumed by the ships on the port of Ebonheart. Baleni saw the two travelers aboard the boat that could really be called more of a canoe, and the two said nothing as they sat, their bodies moving slightly with the waves.

" _One other thing. Tell no one that you have seen me, and if they come looking, tell them that the Nerevarine was preparing to set sail for Akavir._ "

She nodded then at both of them, and much to her satisfaction, Vehk nodded back and lifted a manicured hand to his chest in parting. Ilsme did not think she'd properly rowed a boat since her early youth in the Imperial City, though it was an intuitive process and one learned easily. Vehk, she noted, seemed much more practiced at it. Hear spear and a stash of food that Baleni had given to her lay between them, and when the coast was growing farther and farther, did she finally speak again in Cyrodiilic.

"Do you want to see it, one last time?" She asked, knowing he would understand what 'it' was.

Slowly, a smile graced both of their lips as they collectively directed the boat towards Vivec City, whose grandeur was visible even from here. Another hour and a half was all it took to finally be close enough to see its shape clearly for the last time. Baar Dau loomed over the city like a huge cloud, though the light of the sun shined even through it. A soft breeze caught Ilsme's hair, and a breath escaped both of them as they both watched the city from afar.

By now, their rowing had stopped, and the silence did not need to be filled for the moment to be imprinted on both of their souls. How many stories had he written in this city? How many lovers had he courted? How many songs were compiled in the halls of that once abundantly populated fortress? Time would lose the answers to these questions, like leaves swept away from their host trees in the autumnal months, never to return to that spot ever again.

For the countless time in the past day, tears welled in her eyes once again, as she slowly turned around to continue the voyage, and said a silent farewell to the end of that time of both of their lives.


	2. A Gift of Quality

Ebonheart was much smaller than Ilsme had anticipated. Though she had not ventured much through the mainland of Morrowind, she had possessed higher hopes about the port city. She and Vehk's small vessel had approached it nearing the evening, when there was barely more than a sliver of the sun-disc in the sky. Both of their muscles ached from the laborious duty that was rowing a small boat across the Inner Sea, even if said sea was fairly calm and even in its rhythm.

The clamor of ships harboring along with fishmongers trading their wares surprisingly brought little joy to Ilsme, for fatigue had finally caught up to her, replacing the determination she'd felt to leave Vvardenfell only hours before. Many faces, both outlander and her own kind, greeted she and Vehk as they made their way through the crowds, parting them like wind parted the branches of a tree. None noticed them here, and Ilsme knew she had made a wise decision to head for this port city over the others.

" _I think it prudent to speak with an innkeeper, to inquire about any ships leaving harbor for the southern provinces_." She spoke to Vehk in Dunmeris, leaning in to whisper when she saw the armor of legionnaires.

" _The southern provinces? Where exactly do we make for,_ _sera_ _?_ " Came his response in their native language, using their people's title of respect so as to avoid using her real name.

" _You mentioned it was liberating to feel directionless for once, and I have to admit to some degree that it is. I suppose we_ _wait for a ship to take us wherever it will?_ " She deliberately left the question dangling in the air, and not a moment later, did her companion provide her with another strange look that was not quite impressed and not quite satisfied either.

" _That is sound enough. I will follow your lead, sera._ "

Quickly she'd learned that the quiet confidence Vehk had in mortality, he'd retained. He did not speak often, and when he did, he did not speak much. His eyes often followed the movements of people, and she found that he liked to observe their habits. However, he did this with a detached fascination and amusement that came from fusing the sexual arts with philosophy, and the combative arts with the quill.

Despite his lifelong dalliance with prestige and the sacred, he did not flinch upon seeing the poor and destitute. The smell of poverty did not turn his nose, and he looked clearly in the eyes of his former subjects, the people who he'd likely known the minds of intimately when they said prayers both silent and loud in his name. As she watched him out of her peripheral, she wondered if he knew all of their names and stories, and decided that she would not ask about his godhood until the time was appropriate. A rather large part of her doubted he would tell the whole truth, as was his prerogative, though perhaps she underestimated the change that was occurring in both of them.

The inn on the docks was rather crowded, though there were not many of their kind here. There were many more Nords than Dunmer on the docks, she'd noticed, but that did not surprise her as she was aware that the northern humans had a flourishing trade in seafaring of all kind. A strong smell of alcohol, sujamma and shein, and boiled ash yams wafted through the inn, which was cozier than the cool breeze of the evening air outside. Vehk walked next to her as she approached the innkeeper, an elderly Dunmer man, whose face suddenly looked much lighter at the sight of two travelers who were not outlanders.

His face was lined with wrinkles, weathered and aged hundreds of years. Long, crimson hair peppered with gray framed his delicate, elderly features, and he smiled at either of them. She returned the gesture, and began to take the lead in speaking, for she was under the assumption that Vehk was too busy acclimating to mortality that he was not yet ready to approach other mortals.

"Good evening to you, serjo. My companion and I have traveled far from the northern coast, and we wondered if you had knowledge of any ships leaving for Valenwood?" The lie came easily along with the question, and she pondered on if there were more commonalities between she and Vehk than she previously believed.

The innkeeper smiled congenially at her as he answered her question, apparently joyous to be hosting kin rather than boisterous outlanders, "Yes, sera. Find Tanhis Othes, he's the captain of _The Cliff Racer_ , rather funny name in these times. 'E should be docking within the week, that one is usually not gone for longer than a month. He runs shipments all throughout the southern coasts."

She and Vehk looked at each other in humor at the name _Cliff Racer_ , both reminded of the now sainted Jiub. Though their friendship would be considered far from amicable from an outsider's perspective, she knew much progress had been made in the past two days alone. This was the charm of adventuring, after all – a journey of any kind appeared to warp the feeling of time's passage, and much could happen in so little time.

"We will also need a room. Two, if you have them, and I can pay for them through the week, and for meals." She said, taking the coin out of her little red bag, using her cloak to hide that they'd been shrunken and enlarged by Illusion magics. "Will eighty drakes suffice for the rooms and meals?"

The innkeeper's red eyes widened at the implication of a generous customer, and she was sure he was accustomed to dealing with drunkards and pirates who fancied themselves to have a charming hand at bargaining, when they were normally little more than a banekin was to Vile. Still, she appreciated that walk of life, for she'd spent many years in her youth competing with them for recognition from the upper echelons of Imperial society.

"That is more than enough.. if that be your offer, then courtesy demands that I service you each with baths. It's not often I get a well-paying customer in 'ere, after all." Came his answer, and she offered the coins, counting them by the tens so that the innkeeper did not think he was being played. "Thank you for your custom, sera. As it happens, I've got two rooms available on the third floor of this place, right next to the other. It's not the most luxurious of establishments, but I can assure you that we do our best to keep it clean."

Ilsme had no doubt of the elderly mer's credibility, and smiled at him in thanks and said, "I am sure it will serve our needs well enough, serjo."

"'Appy to hear it." His aged features lifted up into a smile, and then he spoke again, and his next words caused a small surge of panic to rush, "Before I give you the keys, I will be needing your names for the ledger."

For a split second, she and Vehk looked to each other and she knew she'd have to think quick before the kind innkeeper got any suspicions about their origins. On one hand, she knew that logically, there would likely be no danger for her or her name, as she was _still_ a celebrated heroine, but it did not take a _celebrated_ mathematician to add two and two and get four. Anyone who had heard the news of Vivec's trial knew that she was the one who defended Morrowind's former Warrior-Poet, and thus if she was traveling furtively with anyone, it very well may be Vivec.

Quickly, she thought of two names to give him, and she knew Vehk would catch onto the game with ease. His flair was the Lie, and he spun them with the mastery of a spider.

"I am Indora, and my companion here is Zhovehk." Their aliases were reminiscent of their given names, though only to them, while subtle enough to avoid any kind of suspicion.

While the innkeeper recorded their names in his ledger and then reached underneath the stone bar with an audible creak in his knees, Ilsme turned to Vehk and watched for any sign of emotion on his features. He was still staring at a fixed object ahead that she could not see, much like when she found him in the depths of the Red Mountain. She could not fault him for this, however, for in the past year alone they had both endured a lifetime of loss and strife, and that was not accounting for the years before. Leaving Vvardenfell would not suddenly heal those wounds, for time was the only master they could appeal to for relief.

"Here are the keys to either of your rooms." The elderly mer rose from underneath his bar top, placing two brass keys on the surface, "The rooms are up those stairs, all the way up through to the third floor. Once you get to the third floor, go all the way to the end of the foyer, and it'll be the last two rooms on your left."

"I thank you very much, serjo. You have saved us much trouble after a tiresome journey. We shall not forget this kindness." She smiled, taking the brass keys off of the bar and directing the both of them to the stairs.

Indeed, it was not a luxurious establishment, surely not what she was used to after donning the title of Nerevarine. It was an ancient stonework building, with dimly lit corridors and lining the stone walls were banners of Imperial make, courtesy of Imperial occupation, and faded sigils of long-forgotten, minor houses that once ruled this part of the city. Vehk was silent beside her as they walked up the stairs, and neither one of them complained (though they had ample reason to) of the added strain on their muscles.

Both came from humble beginnings, and to complain was in neither of their natures. On this, she found easy common ground with the former god.

When they stood facing their rooms, she turned to him and offered the key. He took it from her hands quietly, that silky skin touching her own only for a moment, and she knew then that it was not time to join hands with him again yet. Vehk was a solitary creature before he was a talented lover and speaker, rather like her, and this was one core that could not be changed by time.

"I have heard tell that it is refreshing to sleep when one has real need for it. As it were, I have found myself bereft of said need for an age. Now, there is a lacking, and when there is a lacking, there is a vessel to be filled." Came his prose.

She decided to respond with her own, "And I am certain there will be many more vessels that need to be filled." After a few beats, she added, "Good evening, Vehk. I will meet with you after waking, if you like."

The silence that followed was not awkward, for she had found that silence between the two was more natural than forced discussion. After thousands of years of playing the part of a rather seductive and gregarious Warrior-Poet, she was almost certain he wished to be who he was before, when he was only Vehk. Was such a wish capable of being granted, though? She had aptly compared the former god to a sandbank whose sand could not be moved, for more sand would replace the sand that was lost. An apt metaphor for one who weaved an intricate web of lies whose threads could be cut, but said threads would invariably be replaced by more, stronger webbing.

But Vehk, unlike Ayem, did not believe his own lies.

Gaining his trust and reviving their connection would not be simple, of this, Ilsme knew, ever since she left the council chamber the day before. She also knew, however, that the slow process of healing did not miraculously occur overnight. As one moderately studied in the Restoration magics, she knew this was true of the flesh wound too.

After Vehk closed the door to the room she'd rented for him, she retired to her own, which was sparsely decorated but had all the things she would need for the week that they'd spend here waiting. A wooden desk of Dunmeri make, aged but sturdy, sat adjacent to the full bed, which was covered in dark red linen and gray sheets, shades used often by her people, though the color reminded her most of House Dagoth. She supposed that it was fitting that Voryn would follow her throughout her journeys, and now that she'd grieved and paid respects to him properly, she found that it did not bother her.

Although fatigued from hiking the Red Mountain once and then back down, and then rowing across the Inner Sea to Ebonheart, sleep did not find her immediately. She thought often of Vehk, if he was resting peacefully, or if he would leave before her when he woke – if she would never see him again. For many reasons, this troubled her, for she believed there were many more words that needed to be said, and many more experiences that needed to be had with the mer. The voice that was not her own answered, and calmed her worries like balm on burnt flesh. _No, he is a mer of oath._

Only a few minutes later, did Ilsme finally find rest after searching for so long.

(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*

To wake and not find the sight of her apartment in front of her was an unusual sight, though as one who had never had a permanent residence before, it only struck Ilsme as odd for no more than a few seconds, remembering where she was and why she was there with speed. She supposed that the universe had never intended for her to know permanence, or perhaps that permanence did not exist in any real capacity.

Water could be heard outside of her window, soft waves crashing into the shore outside, a familiar sound to Ilsme. She was tempted to lay here for another hour, but she was never one to laze about when there were things that needed to be seen to. Thusly, she climbed out of bed not five minutes after waking, and the first thing she did was move the gray curtains away from the thick, glass window. Normally, there were no windows in the taverns of Vvardenfell, for earthquakes were common and their danger was too imminent for glass to be a common sight.

Sailors, brigands, and merchants strolled the docks outside, crates and purses in their hands as they walked toward a destination she was sure was the sea. Watching them, she was reminded that the lives of all of them passed without knowledge that she and the one she traveled with, was here. Life continued apart from them, and this brought a wistful smile to her face as she watched a Dunmer struggle with the crate he was carrying. What was his name, did he have a family, who was his oldest friend? Her mind briefly reminded her that Vehk would know the answers to these questions.

It could not have been two hours after the first crack of dawn, perhaps a few minutes until eight o'clock. This gave her time to gaze at her map of Vvardenfell, the dog-eared parchment suddenly looking more precious than it had ever before looked. Her gaze passed over the names of locations written in charcoal in thin lettering, the print of one who'd spent years living around Imperials trying to mimic their writing. She decided then that she'd make a copy of her map of Vvardenfell while she was here, and sell it to a merchant, for she no longer had much use for the map, and it would be wasteful to not pass down her intimate knowledge of the island to another. There was a reasonable amount of coin to be found in cartography, too. Precise maps were always in high demand from mercenaries and traveling merchants.

Having made up her mind about copying the map onto another piece of thick parchment, Ilsme pulled the wooden chair to the desk and dipped the room's quill into the offered vial of ink. She decided that she would begin with the Red Mountain as the center of the map, and portray the cities and towns after connecting the road paths, which she knew from sensory memory, and hadn't drawn on her original map of Vvardenfell. She cursed when her right hand twitched and accidentally blotted the few peaks of the Red Mountain, and drew out another roll of parchment. Creating maps was no simple task, and her determination for it to be precise did not allow her to use magic to hide the error. This, she had not acquired from Nerevar, who would've gladly used magic to cover his error.

Thirty minutes after she had successfully drawn the Red Mountain on her map and had begun starting on the roads, a knock sounded on her door. It was the innkeeper, who offered her canis root tea, along with ash yam bread and a scrambled kwama egg. Gratefully, she took the offered tray and asked for a bath to be prepared for that evening. She was unsure if Vehk would want one, but she thought it best for him to wash the ash of Vvardenfell from his body, to remove it from both of their persons would be proper.

As she prepared to eat, she realized that she had not greeted Vehk as she said she would that morning. The thought occurred to her only then, and she wondered if he would even care to engage in the niceties now that he had no reason for them. It was the right thing to do, however, as they only had each other now. It reminded her of the images Nerevar had of he and Vehk traveling together in their youths, with no friend but the other, before Ayem and before Sil. Placing the hot tea back onto the silver tray, she held it in her arm and locked the door behind her, knocking on Vehk's door, which she suspected was not locked.

A moment later, did he answer, and he looked more serene this morning than he had the day before. He had already begun preparing his tea, and a vague inkling from Nerevar reminded her that he liked it served only with honey, without milk or citrus. He watched her closely, waiting for the words that were already prepared on her tongue. His eyes, now red, looked at her own and she found that it was queer to see him staying in a tavern and not hovering in the lingering high of meditation. Vehk was a person after all, though, and it only served to belittle his sovereignty to compare this self to his self in godhood.

"Would you like to take breakfast with me, Vehk?" She asked, suddenly feeling much younger than she was, like the orphaned child who asked for one of the orphanage matrons to join her.

"Yes." He moved his tall, lithe body slightly out of the way of the door frame, and allowed her passage to enter.

His curtains were moved, too, and she wondered what had occurred in _his_ mind as he watched his former worshipers toil about. She was aware that he romanticized the lives of the laymen, writing many lines of poetry dedicated to a life of labor and simplicity. Did he envy them their simplicity? Perhaps he merely pretended to, as the performer he was, for she also knew he coveted glamour and beauty far more. There was no doubt in her mind, however, that his performances dedicated to the admiration of the poor left a flicker of inspiration in their hearts.

They sat on the cool, stony floor parallel to the other. She was clad in a thin commoner's nightgown, having changed into it the evening before laying down. He wore no shirt, as she knew he preferred, and wore dark trousers over his long, sinewy legs, having probably found the attire in the small wardrobe. Innkeepers of propriety often kept simple clothes stocked in their wardrobe for the purpose that drunkards would not have to wear their soiled attire the day afterwards.

She cast a simple spell on their meals, and Vehk watched her with interest as she did so. It was a relatively simple incantation of the Mysticism school that worked similarly to a life detection spell, only that its caster's object of interest glowed a bright lavender if it was poisoned – a requirement for any prospecting Telvanni mage.

"It has not been violated, I promise you. I am only looking for poisons, and… there seems to be none." Ilsme said. She did not suspect that the kindly, elderly Dunmer innkeeper would poison them, but she did not know the cook, and she had spent enough time with House Telvanni and in her people's politics to know that it did not take an obvious motive to poison another person.

"And here I was, concocting a rather elaborate plan to incapacitate you. I suppose I shall have to be more creative with my schemes?" It took her only a moment to understand that he was teasing, and she laughed at the phrase that was incredibly reminiscent of _Vehk_.

She could not decide on a clever response to the prickly, teasing words he spoke, for anything she would say may possibly offend him. Something about a spear in her back danced on the tip of her tongue, but she had not the heart to utter the words when she saw the easy, serene look on his features, and instead began to dip her yam bread in the egg. It appeared that Vehk had noticed this change in disposition as well, for his eyes narrowed minutely at the distant look in her red eyes, and his posture became more defensive, but only just enough for her keen eyes to notice.

The mer mercifully did not comment, however. Vehk had ever been an observer of _people_ , and his performances did not include publicly shaming another for their feelings. Contrarily, he was rather accepting of the ephemerality of mortal emotion, and she knew that it was a relief for him to feel impulse and passion again. Serene apathy inspired the people to stoically accept their lot in life, but Vehk was no natural ascetic.

Instead of dipping his yam bread in the kwama egg as was common, he ate each separately, savoring the feel of common tastes on his palette. Together, they ate in silence, the light clink of silverware and the crash of waves against the piers outside being the only sound between them. Ilsme could not help but feel the sensation of a million years passing in each shared moment between the two, but this was not discomforting. It was a wholly unique sensation rather, whose existence she theorized could be traced to all the lost time between them, trying to make up for the years spent apart from the other.

Streaks of tangerine and pink danced on his beautiful, angular features, reminding her of the duality he once embodied, and still did to an extent. Long, dark lashes swept over the bottom of his eyes as he blinked, though this action did not occur often. His head, sleek and uncovered, swayed elegantly with his chewing and drinking, absent of the dangling jewels that once adorned the lobes of his pointed ears. Even in exile, he held an air of both confidence and dignity, two qualities that remained in the mer even after the traumas that millennia could bring.

He was aware of her staring a couple minutes after she finished her meal, and met her eye while bringing the teacup to his lips. She did not surrender, and instead kept her eyes fixed to he and his skin, silently admiring the image of Vehk in the morning light. It reminded her of something, but she could not identify the specifics, for this was not her expertise, and Nerevar did not always provide willingly. He too, was living and breathing the same air, and therefore she did not press that sentient part of her for answers. Vehk was apparently familiar with being stared at, though she did not stare at him as his followers or Ayem did, with lidded eyes seeking practiced whispers of deceptive validation.

"Many believe it is rude to stare, but I have never followed this myself. It is far ruder to dismiss the beauty of creation." He spoke, startling her from her thoughts only slightly. She nodded her agreement, draining the last of the tea from its cup, having now gone cold. "There is no greater sin than having eyes that do not see."

"Or worse still, a heart that cannot feel." She finished for him, and returned her gaze to his own. He was staring at her with amused interest, but it was neither belittling or condescending this time.

"Indeed, Ilsme. I too had a thirsting for wisdom at your age, and was so eager to misplace youthful innocence with it."

By now, both were finished with their morning meal, leaving nothing between them to distract from each other. There was no escape when he addressed her that time, and she was glad for it, for it was the first conversation they'd had thus far that did not involve grief or indignation, but peaceable reminiscence under the incandescence of the morning's light. Her long, white hair was illuminated under that glow, and his features were still cast in those vibrant, burning colors that reminded her of the Heartland meadows in summer. It was a moment she would not be quick to forget.

"Much of that wisdom is not my own, I have had a rather prestigious donor of wisdom, you know." She reasoned, not one to accept praise, especially from the one she spoke to.

"Two always returns to one in time, though it likes to elude. Your wisdom is your own, you must make peace with this."

It struck her as ironic that he spoke of duality as though its insignificance was inarguable, and she supposed it was in the bigger picture they so enjoyed searching for. Only, Vehk had lost the need to search for it long ago, when he was made aware of the 'waking dream'. She still could not see beyond the dualities, though in this she found no shame in admitting. There was likely a good reason that this frame of mind remained – it was still necessary somehow, and she trusted this.

Their conversation was over, if the pensive look on his face was any indication. She bathed in the peaceful silence for another few minutes while he seemingly meditated, and knew that it was privacy he needed now. Forgoing asking, she took his borrowed robe from the dresser and collected hers from her room, shrinking them and stashing them both in her red bag before changing her gown to common clothes. The innkeeper was speaking with what she assumed was another guest, and so she nodded at him on her way out of the tavern.

Ash clung to the fabric of the enchanted robes, blocking the silvery sheen of its make. It took Ilsme a few minutes of searching before she finally found a clean source of flowing water, and although it was salty, it would smell far better than fire and ash. Gently, she worked at the robes with her hands, long fingers kneading the fabric wading below the water. It took only minutes to wash the ash out, making way for the smell of salt instead, though smoke would always linger – but she was used to its smell by now, so used to it in fact that she had to be outside of Vvardenfell to notice. The luster of the robes would be visible again after being hung up to dry for a day, and she smiled at the small work she was silently enjoying, as she made her way back to the tavern to hang them up in her room.

Doing small work with her hands reminded Ilsme that she was mortal, it took her thoughts out of _what will be_ and forced her to experience _what is_. Ash still covered her skin, but even this was forgotten as she labored a job she'd done several times before, in what seemed like an entirely different life. When she was sure that her telekinetic magic would suffice to dry the clothes, she handed her spear and began leaving her room again. Once in the stony halls, she thought on Vehk and wondered if he'd like to join her in the marketplace. She waved this thought away, for once forgoing the aching need to take care of her own, because Vehk was not _hers_ , and she knew that he did not need her, and was only here out of choice. It was easy to forget that he was a sage of antiquity, when she had so many memories contradicting this fact. And for once, Ilsme was permitted to be in solitude, a rare treat, for Vehk was not one to hover.

Her spear supported her steps as she glided through the city, searching for a merchant she could speak to about selling her copied map of Vvardenfell. Though it would likely be a couple days before it was entirely finished, she was interested in using the coin from the map to pay for their passage to Valenwood. Inter-provincial naval passages were not known for being inexpensive for passengers.

Ilsme did not trust the Argonian shopkeeper to give her a fair price for her map, for she would not give herself a fair price if she was in his body. Though having spent many years in Cyrodiil in closeness to beastmen, there was much resentment between Dunmer and beastmen, for good reason. She wondered why the Argonian would remain in Morrowind, for every Argonian in Morrowind was either a slave, former slave, or the descendant of one, with very few exceptions.

When Ilsme found a Dunmer merchant to consult, the price offered for a detailed map of Vvardenfell caused her eyebrows to rise. A few hundred drakes depending on the precision of detail was what Ilsme had to look forward to, and knew that this would be enough to guarantee passage on _The Cliff Racer_. It was not as though she could not afford it now, though again she considered it a waste to not pass her intricate map down to someone else.

Her trip to the city's blacksmith was also enlightening, as she looked at the weapons with a knowledgeable eye, keeping Vehk in mind as she searched for a spear with the blacksmith's permission. She acknowledged that Vehk would likely see her purchasing him a weapon as a competitive action, but it was for more practical purposes, for she knew he had little in the way of wealth beyond virtue of spirit now.

"There is one other that is not on display, sera." The blacksmith said to her suddenly, pausing his work to focus on her, "I noticed that you were watching the spears. If you have the coin, I'd offer it to you."

"What is its make? May I see?" She asked politely.

"Ebony, the finest you could ever find in all of Morrowind, crafted not by me but by my late master many years ago." He disappeared into his stonework aparment, and a few moments later, emerged with a spear, the likes of which she had not seen since spying the Spear of Bitter Mercy.

Ilsme wasted no time in admiring the craftsmanship, setting her own spear down to gently trace the Daedric runes in it, words written in her native language – one such being _Wrath_ and another _Nourish_. The body was incredibly long and sleek, a shade so dark that it did not gleam except under the direct sunlight. The tip, too, was lean and fearsome, and featured three small, jutting igneous rocks sharpened to a point along with the sharpened ebony. For a moment, she could not help but stare in awe at the skill of its creator.

Although she could not read his brilliantly contradictory mind, she was sure Vehk would be pleased to have an arm once again, and further to have one in this like. Ebony was the most prestigious material her people used in metallurgy, and to present him with this would be a powerful symbol of forgiveness. When the blacksmith told her how much it was worth, she did not attempt to barter with him, for indeed the weapon's make was worth a quarter of her acquired wealth.

"This is a very practical replacement of your own spear, _or_ it is a very lofty gift for a very lofty mer." The Dunmer said, and she smiled noncommittally at him and softly shook her head, snowy strands moving in the light sea breeze.

"Rather, a peace offering for a very old friend who I have quarreled with for far too long." Came her reply, taking the proffered spear in her free hand.

Once she'd thanked the blacksmith for his time and adjusted the spear into a safe position in her arms, she lackadaisically made her way back to the tavern that she and Vehk were staying at. The ebony spear received many envious looks from the populace, who had likely never seen something like it. Though not one for pride, she knew Vehk had a veritable weakness for it, and was willing to indulge him with this weapon.

The door to his inn's room was unlocked, much to her surprise, though she knocked out of propriety's sake. The mer answered not a moment later, a blank look playing on his features until he saw the proffered spear. Red eyes narrowed firstly, searching between her and the offering for a missing link that was not made apparent to him. It occurred to her that he was waiting for her to speak first, and she did not waver in her speech, as she had prepared for some inkling of hostility from him, arising out of lingering rivalry.

"I believe I mentioned that you were without arms, and decided to rectify that today. It is a fine weapon, and you may name it yourself." She said, and although he took it without complaint, he still watched her expectantly, and for a moment, she was left to wonder why, until _his_ voice reminded her of something, "I did not do this with the expectation of something in return. Think of it, if you will, as the first gift given between us that is not out of obligation."

The cool, expectant look slowly melted off of his features and was replaced by a pleasing look, which she could not identify if it was for her or the weapon, or perhaps both. He handled the spear with mastery, swiveling it and thrusting it forward with a swiftness she expected from him. Still, it did not diminish her awe at the skill of its owner, and she watched with amusement as he familiarized himself with it. After a minute of his performance, he lifted his head and gazed at her with something akin to amicability.

"This is a gift of quality, Ilsme, and an act of generosity I will not soon forget."

When she noticed the gratitude swimming in the depths of his eyes, for once honest and pointedly not deceiving, she knew that forgiveness was earned on both sides.


	3. Spear of Absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently commissioned a portrait of Ilsme, and if you want to see it, click on the tumblr link on my profile, or look up my tumblr, which is Shasilison.

The smell of ash danced in the air this morning, the ninth morning of Ilsme's stay in Ebonheart. Silver and slate were the colors of the sky, and all dealings done on the docks were done with shawls and scarves covering the lower halves of faces, a cacophony of coughs from her people and wheezes from outlanders who had not the lungs to accommodate for Morrowind's volatile climate. An eruption had not happened on the mainland that day, though ash was being spewed from the Red Mountain on the island of Vvardenfell, a fate that one could not escape until they were in the most southern reaches of Morrowind.

Ilsme hardly noticed ash until she was away from it for long. Years of wading through the ashstorms of Molag Amur's jagged and suffocating landscape taught her instead to appreciate the peculiarity of her people's motherland, though she was still peeved that she would need to again wash she and Vehk's clothing so soon. Said mer was walking by her side now on the docks, his gifted spear held on his shoulder, aimed away from the commoners due not only to its owner's height, but his intentions also.

Crates that were normally left open and on display were closed now, luxury goods that arrived from the southern provinces that could be contaminated by ash and volcanic debris. Ilsme got the impression that this Dunmer city was frequented by outlanders ignorant of Morrowind's unstable locale, which was supported by how many Nords there were doubled down, hands clutching their stomach as they threatened to retch.

The nine days spent in Ebonheart felt akin to a lifetime, but Ilsme would have it no other way. Indeed, it was liberating to free oneself from another's prophecy. By morning, however, Ebonheart would be far behind she and Vehk, less than the smallest dot on the horizon. When Tanhis, captain of _The Cliff Racer_ , arrived at Ebonheart's port yesterday, she had been quick to secure their passage to Valenwood. Once in Valenwood, she was unsure if she would stay there or move on westwards, this she would decide with Vehk, who she knew had much knowledge to pass down about the provinces.

Between them, was an anticipation, the intensity of which shook her to her core. An excitement, the likes of which reminiscent of a youth, coexisted among the two – a seed of desperation to experience and not simply to watch. She realized, not with disappointment, but with pleasure, that this youthful part of them had not waned from responsibilities thrust upon them from an early age. Their aptitude for adventure passed through time unchanged, bringing secret smiles to her face when he was not looking, which was rare, for he was always looking. Vigilant and astute were only two of innumerable qualities she could apply to Vehk, whose contradictions would have intimidated her if she were not patient, or if she had not known him in a previous life.

One last trip to the city's marketplace, and they would board the ship that would finally take them away from this chapter of their lives. With her detailed map of Vvardenfell in her hand, she approached the merchant she'd met on her second day here with the intention of selling the roll of parchment and paying for passage on _The Cliff Racer_ , a name that was still leaving a rather comical effect on her. When the merchant saw her with Vehk, holding the rolled parchment securely in her long fingers, his eyes widened, apparently not expecting a map so fine from their conversation the other day.

"I'll admit, I didn't expect you to actually _do_ it yourself." He then eyed her suspiciously, and she thought of a convincing lie to distract him from the blatant fact that she knew Vvardenfell this well.

"My companion and I are travelers, we sell our maps so that others need not struggle as we have." He seemed to accept this cover, as his fingers began to move of their own accord for his lockbox. "How much is it worth to you, serjo?"

A few seconds passed as his shrewd, red eyes assessed the subtleties of the map, the perfectionism of the map's creator. He compared it to a noticeably less detailed map that he had of Vvardenfell, and a second later, an expression of admiration and greed rose, apparently eager to oversell it to the next overly cautious adventurer who passed through the city.

"Three-hundred." He offered, and she began to shake her head softly at the offer, which he'd lowered since the days before.

It wasn't often that she was given leave to bargain, as she understood the desperation of poverty, but this mer was in no state of poverty, judging by the many wares he had on display in his shop. With a raise of her chin and a narrowing of her eyes that might even gain Vile's admiration, she began to consider just how to move the bargain in her favor.

"Five-hundred." It was always wise to start substantially, she'd learned. Lowering the price marginally and gradually gave the other party the impression of victory.

"No deal." Sounded his heated reply, his gleam of greed replaced by a fear of losing a prize.

"Four-hundred and sixty?" She tried, watching Vehk in her peripheral, and she could see that he was amused by the exchange.

"Four-hundred and thirty." Her hand then jerked away from her in an unconscious manner, beginning to wave with the flow of her words, a familiar gesture when she spoke to others.

"Four-hundred and fifty-five? It is a rather detailed map, including all the sub-regions of Molag Amur, along with the coastal towns like Hla Oad, which you will not find on a standardized map drawn by the Empire." She offered, hoping that the game could be over soon.

The merchant began to shake his head at her, clearly hesitant to accept. If she were not familiar with destitution, she would find it odd, overly fastidious even, that those who were financially comfortable could care so much for small numerical differences in coin. She knew that the merchant was beginning to secure his walls and deny the offer, no matter how determined he was to possess the painstakingly accurate map. Before Ilsme could wet her lips and articulate a smoother approach, Vehk spoke, surprising her only for a moment. Thus far, he had been relatively quiet around other mortals, not one to engage first, instead waiting to be addressed, _if_ he was addressed at all.

"I believe four-hundred and fifty-five is a reasonable asking price. Surely, Slides-Through-Gullies would agree if we were to take it to him instead." Her eyes widened at the implication, though she was unsure who exactly Slides-Through-Gullies was, surmising that it was an Argonian merchant in the city, perhaps one that this merchant had a rivalry with.

She watched Vehk then, an impatient look fixed on his flattering, effeminate features. Once, Vehk had related to her that he was impatient as a mortal, and when she'd compared Nerevar's memories of him to now, she could see that this too had not left the Warrior-Poet. Before, he had been a silent observer of the exchange, seeming both amused and unbothered by it. Her gaze then went to observe the merchant, passing between the two in those few moments before the merchant finally spoke. A rather sly smirk crept up to Vehk's thin, angular lips, reminding her of a reptile, though in vision only. How he so despised defeat, and so coveted dominance.

"Okay, fine. I accept, but only because I can't let that wretched lizard take all the good stock."

For a passing moment, she felt pity for the merchant – yet another victim of Vehk's charm, or in this case, Vehk's ire. Though if Vehk's ire could be used for such purposes as these more often, was it then ire or determination? After the exchange was over, and the coin was given to her, along with a fearsome swipe of the merchant's hand over the map, she spent minutes studying Vehk while walking. Together, they made their way back to the docks and the ship that would carry them south. She could see clearly that he had noticed her curious gaze, though he said nothing.

Vehk was not one to state the obvious as Sil had been, he would not plainly say that she was staring at him, rather he would re-frame it as he always did, with flowery words meant to awe and inspire. Or, he would say nothing at all. Twofold was the nature of Vehk, whose intensely chaotic moods were reflected well, if not exaggerated, in his form during godhood. She could not remember a time where his mood stayed fixed and consistent, for he was as consistently inconsistent as he was selfishly selfless.

Like Vehk, she was not one to state the obvious either, and easily held her tongue at his abrupt change in demeanor. It was not wise to press a snake while it devoured its prey, rather they should only be approached after the ordeal was done. She knew Vehk was still mulling over his small victory, and did not wish to upset the careful balance they'd established in their broken, and now healing, friendship. A connection could be severed as quickly as it was reforged, but a small part of her _knew_ that a connection such as this could never be washed away. It would always remain in some capacity, whether it be in animosity as it was before, or in fraternity as it was millennia ago with Nerevar.

 _The Cliff Racer_ was not a massive ship, unlike the ones she'd seen in Anvil a lifetime ago, but it was impressive in its own right. Daedric runes were etched into the sleek, dark wood, marking it as a ship of Dunmeri make. Making up the figurehead of the vessel was what looked to be a woman's face, but she knew it was _Ayem_. On the hull were carvings of cliff racers, the aviary pests of Morrowind, though they were beautiful enough from a distance, and rather passive in wood. Judging by the look on Vehk's face, she knew that he was observing the Tribunal figurehead, watching it with a blank, passive look, his chin lifted in thought.

That was a conversation that would need to be had at a still uncertain point. Ilsme had mourned the Tribune's death, as Nerevar had wished her to mourn the loss of his former wife, and one who betrayed nearly all of his wishes. His anger had been hotter with Ayem than it had been at any other, white hot and surging, overflowing with grief and fury. There had been an overwhelming feeling of both relief and desperation with her death, a current of emotions not unlike Voryn's death. But that was different, for Voryn was the widow of no one.

The only response Vehk had offered at her death had been something along the lines of calling it a sad ending, and while Ilsme agreed, it did nothing to soothe the pain back then. Thinking about it did not bring tears this time, however, as she wrenched her eyes away from the figurehead and focused ahead. She did not intend to go back on her inner oath that she had forgiven Vehk, but it was easy to forget that he could be infuriatingly frustrating when she was in his presence. Only when she was without him, did she criticize his flaws. This was unfair, however, as she was aware that she too was flawed.

Her head spun around to meet his face, intending to check if he was following her onto the vessel, and nearly paused in her tracks when she saw that he was staring at her closely and no longer at the figurehead. She offered a small smile of understanding, against her better wishes to talk about Ayem, and spoke.

"Are you ready to leave?" The breeze, smoky and littered with tiny debris, lifted her hair, blowing it in the wind around her as she waited for his answer.

He did not take long to answer her, the fine, ebony spear held passively on his shoulder, the stance of one who was confident with their weapon. His robe, like hers, blew with the wind, and in that small moment, all felt terribly surreal, though any possible comparisons were rendered obsolete by the gravity of the circumstance. Two figures of renown stared at each other, all surrounding people oblivious to this, oblivious to the profundity of the moment.

"I have been ready for longer than you know, Ilsme."

This time, she did not doubt the sincerity of his words.

(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*

The swaying of a ship was a familiar feeling for Ilsme, who was lying on her small bunk in the cabin of _The Cliff Racer_ , which she noted earlier was clearly not a suitable passenger ship. The ship she'd arrived on in Vvardenfell years ago had not been a passenger ship either, and as one who didn't complain much, she kept her mouth closed and sharpened her spear when there was not much else to do.

Although accustomed to sailing by now, the swaying of the vessel prevented her from reading the books she had brought with her. She'd yet to be sickened by the motion of the sea, though the same could not be said for the few other passengers who had purchased passage to Thorn, a port city in Black Marsh that their ship would dock in for a night. The implications of this port city were not lost on Ilsme, who knew that while slavery was technically outlawed by the Empire, it was still a furtive practice in Morrowind, so deeply ingrained in their traditions that it could not be washed away by simple word of law.

The novelty of sharing a cabin with Vehk did not pass unnoticed by Ilsme, who often lingered on the edge of sleep at night, thinking of the mer who was lying on the bed beneath her. Temptation beckoned her to watch him sleep, or to keep one eye open at night, for reasons innumerable. He made no noise in the evening while he slumbered, and tonight was no different. Two other passengers shared their room, a thing she was not pleased with, but stomached by orphan's habit. Though they _were_ loud, it was not what kept her awake this evening. An intrusive thought, a thought abandoned during the throes of passionate hatred and grief, was dancing around in her head.

 _Ayem_.

When she spoke the name, like a lover's caress in her mind, her inner voice calm, but Nerevar's vindictive. As soon as the name was tangible in her head, her feet moved of their own accord, and silently stole away from the cabin. Outside, it was dark, and the only light were the stars, which were clear and bright now that the ash of northern Morrowind was not in a territorial war with the sky. The sea breeze was calm, not at all untamed as it had been in Ebonheart a couple days ago now.

A kind of guilt made itself known to her when she thought of the beautiful Tribune – the beautiful, wretched deceiver who could so easily deceive even herself into believing that her benevolence was concrete. This guilt, Ilsme knew, was irrational, for Ayem was not here, and if she was, she would be beyond saving. Only now that Ilsme had relieved herself from her duties as Nerevarine, was she given the freedom to contemplate these things.

Ilsme was alone here save for the crew, who did not bother her. Like all sailors, there was a tribal affinity passed between them and not shared with those who preferred to toil on land. This did not bother her, in fact, she rather preferred it – these bonds that connected people, sometimes to the detriment of her, were all many had. It had been much the same with her and the few Dunmer she'd known in Cyrodiil, who had shown tribal favoritism toward her in her youth, going out of their way to reward her with greater treasures and words than they had with others.

There was no land in sight, and if there were no stars out on this night, she may have been tempted to believe that she was not on a ship at all, but languishing in a dream unaffected by her title of Nerevarine. Her gaze followed a pair of dolphins that could barely be seen in the distance, except by her, who was looking for them. Truly, she had never seen the creatures before, for the waters of Morrowind were no place for the dolphin. A wistful smile tugged at one corner of her lips, and she wondered if at a distant point in time, she could learn to approach her woes with the whimsical attitude of the dolphin. To dance through a sea of strife, only to find beauty in its forward sway, for sway forward it did – not so unlike time.

A pair of footsteps had not sounded behind her, there was no audible breath, nothing sensational to alert her that there was another standing with her. But she knew, Vehk was here. Always, there was a shift in the air when she was with him, always, there was a slowing of the passage of time. Indeed, she needed no sense to know when he was nearby.

She was unsure of how to begin the conversation, for she knew why he was here. The implications of his presence were not lost on Ilsme, who knew that there was some level of concern behind his selfish processes. There was a suspicion that he may follow her, for Vehk had always been an inquisitive one who strove to know the secrets of others to synthesize with his own. This did not bother her, as she had accepted this quality of his long ago. But how to proceed with the discussion that she knew was necessary? Vehk's skill with language drove her to try harder than she had to with others. This competitive streak between them would likely never go away, and somehow, she was glad for this. It was a luxury she had yet to experience with any other.

To ask Vehk a question was no simple matter, however. Expecting the full truth was folly, as it was not in his nature to speak plainly, an intimidating scenario for she, who had a similar weakness. This made discussion with him profound and illuminating at the best of times, but a frustratingly alluring maze of smoke and mirrors at the worst. She swallowed this intimidation down, ashamed that she was still letting his superior age and wisdom get to her.

"How did you stomach the guilt all those years, Vehk? It's a question I've been meaning to ask you for sometime now.." She let her voice trail off, and turned her head only slightly to keep him in her peripheral. Instead of remaining behind her, he joined her side, a moderate amount of space left empty between them.

"Meditation, beauty, purpose." He answered without hesitation, causing her to furrow her brows and stare at him openly in an expression she knew would appear as doubt. He saw this too, and an air of amusement passed between them at his attempted gravitas, "Meditation is a rather convenient escape from the tangible – one becomes as a cloud is to the ground. But soon enough, even clouds become one with the ground, when the rain falls. The question I pose for you, is what makes you think that guilt can or should be stomached?"

The question was fair enough, she supposed, but she could not let it distract her. This was the game that Vehk played, redirecting a question for himself to a question of his which took on the appearance of seeming more pressing than the other.

"Should it not be worn, can it not be made beautiful by the skill of its wearer like any fabric?" He pressed, weaving the reassuring lie so well that it nearly distracted her from her purpose. He should've known better than to use such a tactic, and indeed she believes that he does, but is doing it to test her somehow.

So she turns her head back to the ocean ahead, gazing at it momentarily while she considers how to respond to his lies, which always have a sliver of truth in them, or else they would not be half as profound as they were.

"I'm afraid not, or love could also be worn, and when love is worn, it just becomes like any other ornament, and then ceases to be love." She finally decided to say, trying to turn the game of words in her favor. She was aware that Vehk enjoyed this, and it offered temporary reprieve from the thoughts swimming around in her mind, helping her shape something concrete from abstract. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I could be persuaded to agree, now that there is no repercussions for it. Guilt is a creature you must soothe when there are countless others who rely on you, and as you said before, becomes merely an ornament, a thing of beauty or terror. But permanent nonetheless, no matter what form you will it to be." A moment of silence that seemed to stretch on, until it was filled again by his even voice, and somehow, she knew he was about to tell her something revealing. "Because of this reality, I will confide in you that I did not feel burdened by guilt until only recently. _I_ find that accepting it, similarly to accepting that the sky is blue and the clouds are white, will eventually lead it to being _like_ a cloud – weightless. If one can do this, one does not need to meditate and _become_ the cloud, but can instead be an observer of it, and appreciate creation's beauty."

Ilsme mulled on that for minutes, deciding that she trusted Vehk's take on this for once.

"For the past two nights, I've wondered if perhaps I was too rash with Ayem. If there could have been an understanding found through reason, would that have stayed her hand? Or, was she beyond that? It mattered very little when I saw that she had murdered Sil, and I could not… _stomach_ the anger, and this hot emotion took over all things. My guilt for letting her get to him first, far eclipsed my guilt for how I did not look for other ways to settle things with her. In a manner of speaking, her death felt so small compared to her actions. An odd thing, that."

Was it wise to confide in Vehk as he had confided in her minutes before? He was a singularly remarkable predator, after all, and though she did not hold this against him in any way, she still feared his callous manipulation of others, and what it would look like if applied to her. Another part of her entirely, feared that he simply did not care enough, but this was put to rest by the knowledge that he was here, and if he was here, then that meant there was something he could gain from this, and that was another way of saying that Vehk cared.

"It does not do to dwell on what could have been, rather than what can be done now." _True_. "Since our first meeting, I have noticed that you tend to take accountability for others' sins. This, I do not condemn you for. It is a rare gift that tends to be undervalued in those that have it, and in those that would seek to use it against you." There was a small, barely visible smile on his lips, though it did not threaten to become known.

She pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders, though the breeze was far from cool. It was a moment of vulnerability, a feeling she wished she could indulge in more often, and now that she was away from Morrowind, she may very well be able to.

"Ayem was a proud woman, a woman of valor and many mercies, _once_. She scarcely told a lie that she herself did not believe. If what you say is true, that she believed her troubles could only be solved by an attempt on your life, then there could be no other end. It's my belief that, even if you had not intervened, Sil's life would still have been forfeit… he was lost ages ago, much like Ayem was. No, there was no other way. If there was, I do not doubt you would've found it, Ilsme. Their destiny ended in betrayal, and this, I secretly anticipated. Do not feel guilt on account of Ayem, or Sil, but especially Sil. He would not have wanted this."

It went without saying that Ayem would have.

He did not comfort her by telling her that Ayem had become a monster, a shell of her former grace and compassion. Those words did not need to be said, and was silently understood by both. She could not help but feel a warmth emanating within at Vehk's passing appraisal of her, either, even if she itched to deny it by understating her act of heroism. Her experiences with Vehk indicated that a direct form of praise should arouse suspicion, but she supposed this moment was different from others. Yet again did she realize that he was the only one who knew her beyond her achievements.

Sil's death would always follow her, perhaps because her alacrity was outmatched by Ayem's madness. It was a rare circumstance where she had lost something but gained nothing. Though loathe as she was to admit that Vehk was right, she eventually did concede, and a weight was lifted from her shoulders as he had revealed it would. Nothing in this universe happened by mere chance, and that they were here together spoke volumes about this reality. A sensation that was not entirely physical encompassed her, filling her with a profound epiphany that this was _supposed_ to happen, but it did not have to. As she suspected, an individual's choice was the only factor that could turn the tides of fate.

"Thank you." Was all she said afterwards, knowing that to say more was unnecessary.

Instead of returning to their cabin, they spent the rest of the night underneath the sky, the need for sleep abandoned for the kinship they were quickly finding in each other. Not many words were passed, and much of the night was spent in silence, but this did not bother her. If words needed to be said, they would indeed be said, and she trusted this, and oddly enough, she was beginning to trust Vehk again, as dangerous as it may be. As she'd been saying to herself since his trial two weeks prior, _all the lies have already been told_. Like a mantra, these words repeated often in her mind when he told her something that sounded trustworthy.

Together, they sat in a safe spot overlooking the short, wooden railing that protected them from the seas below. When the sun began to rise, to her right, she began to hear seagulls, and knew that Thorn was close. Tanhis, the ship's captain, told her that it was abnormal that he stay ported here for longer than two days, and if all business went right, they would be leaving by the morning. She found that she did not care if it pushed two days, for there was an adventurous longing to see even the barest slip of Black Marsh's swamps, which she had only seen hints of in Cyrodiil's region of Blackwood.

Nearing what she assumed was six o'clock in the morning, seagulls and other seabirds whose names she could not think of, swarmed the surface of the sea, picking off the fish nesting there. Vehk watched this with interest as well, looking in awe at the natural world, which she assumed he had been out of touch with for some time now.

"Have you visited the Black Marsh before?" She asked, breaking the silence while they stared at the birds collecting their morning meals, an entire world happening below that she was not a part of.

"Long ago, before assuming my godhood. It is a miasmal land of swamp and disease, and a place where our kind aren't welcome. Though there is a measure of poetry in the fetid, I assume our captain is not here to admire the scenery, judging by the size of many of the crates, which are empty."

It was her turn to chuckle at this close observation by Vehk, which she had not made herself. She wondered then if they had boarded a slaver's ship, and if the captain intended on selling the slaves in Valenwood, because while slavery was technically outlawed, it was common knowledge that the Great Houses did not abide by these rules, and used shadowy means to achieve their ancestral rights to slave labor.

"Our people have some nerve, do they not?" She commented, her voice light with humor, the weight of their earlier conversation becoming light with the rise of the sun.

"Indeed, a quality in them I have never undervalued."

It was ironic that her love for them had only grown over the past few years, while his had waned. Indeed, she wondered if he had ever truly loved them as deeply as the other Tribunes had, for she knew best that his love was temperamental and opportunistic, and flitted indiscriminately between objects that had momentarily captured his focus. While a talented lover, his love was fickle and its depth transformed with ease, much like the seasons.

Not thirty minutes later, their ship had made port in Thorn, and the first thing Ilsme noticed were not the sights, but the smells. It had been years since she'd smelt tobacco, and the scent of it brought forth images of Cyrodiil's taverns at dusk, when the colors pink, blue, and orange coexisted in the skies. Before they left the ship to explore the city of Thorn, she and Vehk retrieved their spears and she, her little red bag with her coin and belongings shrunken inside.

The city bustled, but there were none speaking in Cyrodiilic. Her ears picked up on Jel, the incomprehensible language of the Argonians, a rare sound outside of a Dunmer plantation or Black Marsh itself. It had a harsh, grating quality that she figured would not be ideal for poetry, and she wondered if Vehk thought similarly. The few Dunmer in the city were outfitted in exquisitely detailed robes of gray, blue, and golden, along with large, chitinous pauldrons, their faces covered by intricate masks, and she knew them to be nobles of House Dres, traveling from Tear, their city that was likely only a day's walk by foot, or half a day by water.

Nobles of House Dres spoke closely together in Dunmeris, some with Argonian hatchlings hanging from their arms, and it did not surprise her that this was a slave city, as close as it was to Tear. An auction was occurring not far from the docks, with members of House Dres, as well as unaffiliated Dunmer in attendance. She and Vehk watched it as it happened, the first time she had ever seen a slave auction occur with her own eyes. Though undeniably ghastly, it was a significant cultural aspect in the eastern provinces, and when she'd first seen slavery in Vvardenfell a few years ago, she had been outraged, though now it effected her very little. She'd seen no Imperial guards in the city, and not even a veritable hint of Imperial occupation in the form of banners. It made sense that Imperials would abandon such a province as Black Marsh, for if the rumors about it were true, it was an innavigable maze of giant trees suspended in murky waters where disease was rampant for outsiders, perhaps explaining why the Dres wore elaborate masks and robes.

Brass infusers smoked with the smell of incense, of horn lily, meadow rye, and myrrh, an attempt by the few Dunmer to fill the air with flora rather than mud and musk. She gazed at Vehk, who was closely observing the proceedings of the auction, unsure what emotions were swelling in him at the sights, sounds, and foreign smells of Black Marsh. Many of her people were not fond of the diminutive race of amphibious beastmen, but Vehk was not _many_.

Stained glass lamps the color of dark orange and gold held candles in them, offering light in the damp, green and gray backdrop of the city, which was surrounded on nearly all sides except the sea by cypresses and large, hanging willows, effectively cocooning the city's residents away from the swamps beyond. Wooden claw torches painted in a tribal fashion of all colors dotted the city as well, intermingling with the more familiar Dunmer styles she knew. Roundhouses were numerous in the city, comprised of sticks and caked with mud, supported above murky backwater by wooden foundations, while the few Dunmer manors were large and impressive, cut from clay and decorated with Dres emblems.

While lost in thought, she barely noticed the Dres guard directing a group of young Argonians in chains toward _The Cliff Racer_ , resigned looks on their faces as they were led by their Dunmer masters. So, Vehk was right when he made that observation, not that she'd put much heart into doubting him this time.

" _There are many more where these hatchlings came from. This one will be fit, muscled, and obedient when it matures – a good addition to many a plantation. As hatchlings are ideal, this one will start at an asking price of seven-hundred drakes._ " A Dres noble spoke in Dunmeris, clad in robe and ancestral mask, a small, black and red Argonian hatchling in his arms.

When the initial shock at seeing a slave auction passed, Ilsme and Vehk continued on through the city, walking carefully over the dilapidated wood, the only layer between them and the murky waters below. It did not surprise her that there was only one inn in the city, and it was owned and rented by House Dres, a people whose curiosity she did not want to stir, as her face was well-known enough in northern Morrowind, and the Dres had many spies constantly searching for underhanded means to transport and make use of slave labor.

Beside her, Vehk handled his ebony spear, a weapon he had not given name to yet, and if he had, he'd not told her.

"Does slavery not bother you, as one who was once an outlander?" Vehk asked, his voice conversational but otherwise unreadable.

"A fair question, I suppose." She prepared herself to give the speech she'd given to a few other Dunmer who'd asked something similar, her hands moving in tandem with her words, "Initially, I was repulsed by it when first I witnessed the Khajiit and Argonian slaves in Vvardenfell. As one who was raised firstly in the Imperial province, slavery was alien, a practice that did not occur in civilized society. After some time of repeated exposure, I began to accept it as an ancient practice of our people, though this happened while I was beginning to embrace my Dunmeri heritage also. Though it bothers me very little now, I still find it rather ghastly."

"That is… fair enough." Rarely did Vehk pause when stating anything, except to emphasize a point. She'd yet to see him fumble with his words, something she could not imagine from the wordsmith.

A few moments of silence passed between them, while crickets and frogs sounded from the dark, submerged forest lining the city, a peaceful thing considering the hostility of it. She decided she wanted to return Vehk's earlier question with a question of her own, and prepared it thusly.

"Have you thought of a name for your spear yet?" Came her question.

He did not answer immediately, in fact, they walked past several mud-caked buildings before he did, and she watched the sharp, beautiful angles of his face as they passed underneath lamps, red eyes glowing with the opportunity to _perform_ , and so she waited with baited breath for his response, prepared for a lie or more. Instead, he merely turned to face her, causing both to pause in their tracks on the shanty city's wooden planks, underneath a street lamp. His chin raised slightly in the air, more in contemplation than craft this time, and his gaze traveled from the spear to her, a benign but sly amusement dancing around on his face, pulling at his lips and narrowing his eyes.

"I believe I shall call it the Spear of Absolution, in honor of the one who has passed it to me… this is most fitting, wouldn't you say?"

Ilsme's lips parted slightly in surprise, for she'd grown used to indifference and a measure of coolness from Vehk's mortal form, as he had been as a mortal millennia ago, and she was not prepared for something akin to warmth from him. Vehk was apparently amused by this, and the sly smile lingered on his lips as she searched for a proper response, and she could sense the watering in her eyes, but instead of allowing them to fall, quiet laughter filled the air, surprising even herself. It took her a moment to realize that the sound of bells was not an Aedric chapel, but Vehk, who'd joined her.


	4. A Star and Ancient Sea

By the end of that week, Thorn too had passed with the tiniest dots on the horizon, and Ilsme bottled that experience like a potion, collecting and storing it for later. The days were growing longer as their ship approached southern Tamriel, the breezes warmer, and the fish more luminous and colorful. Slaves that were purchased by Tanhis, the ship's captain, caught most of their supper, and the few armed sailors watched the slaves closely, anticipating an attempt to escape.

Meanwhile, she and Vehk had begun an odd sort of routine practicing spear thrusts. Their mornings began with the practice, something both were needing after nearly a month now of pacifism. Though aware of his skill with the spear, and indeed martial aptitude in all things, she could not help but be mesmerized by his movements, which was a measured dance of confidence and artful duplicity, a game that was keeping her guessing his next moves, reflecting well the unpredictability of the mer in question.

This morning, they drew a small crowd to watch their display. The other passengers were comprised of Nords, seemingly in awe of the dance of renown occurring on the deck. The captain, too, watched, and his sailors as well. It did not escape her that it was unwise to attract attention, but it was a luxury both she and Vehk enjoyed and were not likely to shed anytime soon. Vehk, of course, won most of their practices, the wooden stick he used as a substitute able to submit to his craftiness with the ease of a master. It was not as though Ilsme had not come near to beating him once or twice, for she had (with great difficulty) managed to make for his neck the day prior, nearly winning the 'fight'.

They bowed to one another, as was proper custom for their people. Vehk's shirt was absent as he preferred, his lean torso and sinewy arms on display, while his legs were covered in thin breeches. As for Ilsme, she too did not overdress, for the days were not only growing longer, but hotter as well. Not a single cloud was dancing in the heavens this morning, and if she were not Dunmer, her fair complexion may have been compromised by it as the Nords were beginning to experience. A symphony of dolphins made themselves known in the distance this morning, and she reminded herself many times not to allow the splendor of the natural world to distract her from her opponent, who she was convinced knew her better than she knew herself at times.

His eyes, sharp and perceptive, followed her movements like a serpent uncoiled itself at the sight of prey. If she were not wiser, his gaze would be flattering, and she supposed that this sight was the last thing many saw before a remarkably alluring end at the tip of his spear, lips turned up in the smile of a reptile. She wondered if he missed access to spears of divine make, and judging by the look in his eyes, he was convinced he did not need spears enchanted by godhood to be extraordinary.

She did not give him the honor of first blow this round, for her opponent did not play according to principles of honor as Voryn had. Her first thrust was done so with zeal and met with equal measure, though Vehk's was far less apparent, hidden beneath calculation and discipline. The wood of their practice weapons met with a vibrating force, full of practiced and performative vitriol, and the sound, though small, marked the beginning of a dance of masters, unbeknownst to those who watched. During these sessions, Ilsme allowed her lingering distrust of him to surface and dwell, healthily lending her a guide for parrying him and his deceptive attempts to bait her into striking with full force.

Aware was she that this was merely practice, though that did little to dampen the desperate attempts by both to dominate the other in this area. In several ways, it was improving her skill with the spear, which was nearly unrivaled except by her opponent. Watching him move was like artwork, and she, the admiring observer who wished to prove equal to such art. With ease, he flourished the practice weapon as though it were weightless, in the heat of performance, in a time where most would feel only desperation, he felt an opportunity to inspire awe in a crowd, even if said crowd was small and insignificant in the larger picture.

Ilsme was learning quickly how to avoid his cunning traps through maneuvers of her own, though rarely did he fall prey to them. Thankfully, he did not entertain her by indulging her desire for victory, and thus did not spare her his masterful display. As one with skill in this life, and memory of a past life, she was able to keep pace with his mastery with her alacrity and eagerness to learn. One quality she did not share with him was pride, a powerful thing that she was in a continuous struggle to understand.

"You are quick, Indora. Eager, too. Perhaps too eager?" He taunted, using her alias, though she could not tell if it was playful or serious. "Eager to lose, even?"

His jabs did not do to distract her this time, for she knew that this was its purpose. Her feet slid to dodge one of his attacks, allowing her to skid across the deck that was slick with mop water, leading her closer to the side of Vehk. Vehk anticipated this, however, and the stick nearly hit her back, but instead narrowly missed and only caught her white hair.

"I do not lose, I bring." She began, "I am older than music, and what I bring is star and ancient sea!"

Vehk's head snapped to her face then, but he did not falter. An amused sort of smile crept up one corner of his supple lips at her playful attempt to distract him with his sermons, and she saw that the small crowd watching them was suddenly struck by confusion at her words. How odd it was for Ilsme to be a foreigner once again, a life she has not known in so long, and she wagered that Vehk felt similar to her in this regard. A flash of teeth was what she saw before her opponent charged, and she twisted her body and pushed her legs forward, making to swipe his neck with her stick, marking the symbolic end of the fight.

This time, she did win, and Vehk stood there, a light expression on his face with the wood at his throat. It was not a tactic she would use often, because he would now anticipate it. A moment and a lifetime passed as they stood in that position, not quite reunited as friends but most certainly free of hostility. Her snowy hair blew in the warm breeze, moving also the sheer common clothes she wore. Not two seconds after her first real victory over Vehk, did she drop the stick in a gesture of mercy, still maintaining eye contact, as difficult as it could be.

"You did not hold back, and I am glad of it. An excellent teacher you would have made." She said lowly, low enough that the small gathering of awed faces did not hear. It went without saying that her sentence would have ended in _if you had the patience_ , but saying such a thing could be poorly received in the cusp of their refound kinship.

He did not reply, but instead made to gaze at the sea, apparently finished with entertaining the admirers he had acquired, and choosing to watch the life that was thriving as they passed it by. She found that her feet followed his movements over to the edge of the deck, where they overlooked the waters together as they had near the coast of Thorn. A slave approached them shortly and brought two small cups of water, and before they turned, she nodded in thanks, careful not to earn the ire of the captain, who was indeed a Dres-aligned slaver.

Water trickled past her lips and down her throat, soothing the dry itch, and she watched as Vehk did the same. He did not drink with as much fervor, she noticed, and perhaps it was because he did not need as much sustenance as she – if he needed any at all, a fact she had not ascertained yet, for she was not yet comfortable enough with asking him about his godhood and descent to mortality.

Valenwood would not be far now, and she was left to wonder if it was truly the place she wanted to roam with Vehk. Certainly, it would be isolated and their faces would be unknown by all in the canopied kingdom, which she'd heard only whispers about from the few Bosmer she'd known. A wise place to start to rearrange the fallen cards that were the both of their lives, however, there was this suspicion that it was not yet far enough, and Ilsme had not gotten far without trusting this feeling.

Ilsme must have looked lost in thought, for it looked like Vehk was waiting, with his midsection leaned against the wooden railing, and his manicured fingers beating like drums on his forearms, a gesture she noted he did when he was growing impatient with something, though usually not her. Nerevar wanted her to speak, but she did not know how to present her question without it sounding fickle to her own ears, and if it sounded fickle to her, it most certainly would to Vehk also. She bode her time by joining him against the railing, leaving a small open space between their bodies.

With her gaze now on the sea, and the waves helping to clear her mind and reassure her, she prepared herself. It would be right to include Vehk in her decisions, for they traveled together now. The days of walking alone, her persistence and Nerevar being her only companion, were over. Those days, fiery and full of desperation as they were, lay far behind her now, discarded in the port of Hla Oad. Only one followed her now, and he did not need her to make decisions independent of him. This insulted his sovereignty.

"Far have I traveled, but never have I traveled this far south. What should we expect in Valenwood?" She asked, and joined him near the railing.

A slave brought them two clay cups filled with water, as the captain had been bidding them to do for the past few days after their shows of martial excellence. She did not believe the captain suspected something of them, rather he often watched them with a greed she'd seen in many prospecting mers' eyes. Almost certain that he intended to ask them to perform mercenary work, she avoided his gaze when she could.

"Feral elves, and verdancy the likes of which you have never seen before. Trees as tall as the grandest ziggurat of our people's make, and the dense moss that clings to them. Kingdoms that will pass your eye, unseen, until you listen and hear the footsteps above you." He answered, that familiar glint in his eyes that told of how he enjoyed spinning verse like this, "Long has it been an isolated country, not so unlike Morrowind. It's come to my attention that the Aldmeri Dominion has unmanned these elves, however. We should not be the only outsiders."

Days passed before finally they saw the coast again, for the first time since Thorn, and she wondered how much skill it must have taken to circumnavigate these seas. A city Tanhis called Haven appeared on the horizon then, a bustling cove built in an archaic fashion reminiscent of the Altmer. Ilsme could see that ships of all make dotted the shoreline, and that theirs was the only one of Dunmeri make.

When finally it was time to touch land again, she joined Vehk with her belongings, spears in both of their hands, and awarded the ship's figurehead only one last look, before moving forward. There were no Dunmer in this city, aside from she, Vehk, and the crew that worked _The Cliff Racer_. There were many Khajiit and Bosmer, and a few tall and elegantly robed Altmer, who looked down their noses, literally and figuratively, at the other residents, who were mainly comprised of transient sailors and merchants.

Haven was large and its buildings tall, but the jungle far behind its walls boasted even more impressive giants. Some Imperial faces made themselves known to her as together, she and Vehk walked from the docks and into the city proper. The Imperials were not in uniform, however, and looked to be weary from a source uncertain. It was then that she saw a large cohort of Altmer soldiers led by their robed leaders, and surmised that this city had been taken recently.

Something was happening, she felt – something large and revolutionary. Naturally, Tamriel had changed much since she was cocooned in the ashy wastes of Vvardenfell, and a small sliver of excitement rushed through her at the proof of time's passing. She kept Vehk in her peripheral, watching him gaze at the faces of those who were not his former worshipers for once. She imagined it must be odd for him to be in a place where he knew next to nothing about its people's inner workings, their minds completely foreign to him. In their people, he had the luxury of one who was privy to their minds, having heard prayers silent and spoken in his name.

It took longer than usual to find an inn, and before they had, Ilsme was compelled to ask one of the Altmeri guards for direction. They were uncharacteristically sour towards her, and she was aware of why. For many years, indeed, millennia, a spiritual war was fought between the Altmer and the Dunmer, a battle over escapism or worldly ambition. Ilsme did not mind this, however, as it had been long since unfriendliness had bothered her. An orphan like she, and even Vehk, were unbothered by the perceived superiority of others. This is what allowed the exceptional orphan to part the waves of the upper echelons of society, and bring forth a tide of change, inspired by the personal ambition to be extraordinary.

One downside to being a foreigner again was that they were no longer invisible as they had been in Ebonheart and Thorn. The gazes of western elves followed them, eyeing their sharpened spears with distrust and no small amount of fear. Khajiit too, did not try to hide their fangs as they bared their teeth at members of a race who often enslaved them in the plantation.

Vehk did not surrender to their incessant staring, and instead met their eyes with a serene intensity that would have intimidated her if she were not wiser to his games. She too met their curious and distrusting gazes, her experience with statecraft helping her maintain an air of diplomacy as together they found the innkeeper, who was a tall Khajiiti female. Unlike the others in the inn, she did not eye them with suspicion, but with sly interest, as was a common expression in her kind.

A rather strong feeling came over Ilsme that this innkeeper would ask something of them before allowing them to stay.

"S'rravi greets you, travelers." The Khajiit, S'rravi, spoke in common, accent thick like sugary water.

Ilsme brushed a strand of white hair behind one pointed ear, and noticed that Vehk was watching the inhabitants of the inn with a close eye. One Bosmeri woman giggled at his attentions, which Ilsme knew were flattering from a distance, and the distrust in some were gone as Vehk met their curious gazes with a look of thinly-veiled predatory cunning. It was not often that he interacted so openly with other mortals, and rarely did she find him initiating conversation with them, or inviting attention to himself. Habits did not disappear overnight, however, and the desire to perform would always linger there deep within.

"Blessings to you, S'rravi." Ilsme began, touching her fingers to her chest in greeting.

To mention her inexperience in southern Tamriel could prove a severe mistake, and so Ilsme neglected to mention that they were traveling from Morrowind to Valenwood for the first time, and indeed spoke little else, certain that the sly beastman would ask something of her before she had the opportunity. Ilsme had spent much of her life being a foreigner in a land where her kind were most uncommon, and unwanted in some places, and thus was nearly impervious to the needling stares at their backs.

"S'rravi wonders why two fearsome-looking Dark Elves have come to her, she wonders if she should feel threatened." The innkeeper said with a purr, sandy tail swishing behind her in a display akin to mock hostility, "She supposes if the moons are feeling generous, she will also."

A voice sounded in the back of Ilsme's mind then, that voice she so relied upon for comfort and unity. Nerevar felt both suspicious and curious towards the climax of a proposition they were near to arriving at with the innkeeper. Vehk beside her was apparently done entertaining the other guests with his flattering, alluringly dangerous stare, the seducer gone and instead replaced by blankness, what she was beginning to understand was his instinctive reaction to all.

"I wonder, then, what it would take to arouse generosity in the moons? Perhaps you would be kind enough to explain this to us, and of course, we will listen." Came her reply, matching the Khajiit's underhandedness of speech.

Though aware that she was no longer in Morrowind, a glowing barrage of epiphanies made themselves known to Ilsme in that moment while she waited for the Khajiit to answer her. It was like being in Vvardenfell for the first time again, where the people had very little trust to spare her, and she was made to solve their problems, be it menial or otherwise, to gain their hard-earned trust. Only this time, she was not alone, and once again, the surrealism of Vehk's presence beside her drew her attention only momentarily away from the Khajiit, to Vehk himself, who watched the scene calmly.

(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*

The calls of birds Ilsme had never heard before sounded in the jungle behind Haven, with feathers of colors she had only seen in Cyrodiil's meadows filling the canopy above. Her ears were filled with the heavenly sound of singing birds, a sound she'd not heard in a lifetime, for Vvardenfell lacked the verdant meadows and forests that much of the rest of Tamriel boasted. The Khajiiti innkeeper had given them the task of clearing a gathering of pirates, whom she strongly suspected were rival smugglers of whoever S'rravi worked for.

With her spear in hand, and a warding spell in the other, she led the expedition further into the jungle where S'rravi hinted they'd be. Her keen sense of hearing picked up on little noises in the canopies above, causing her ears to prick forward at the slightest hint that they were being watched – which she strongly suspected was true. This feeling was not unfamiliar to her, however, as the ashstorms of Vvardenfell hosted a wide variety of sharp predators, both elven and creature alike. Though not one to hide herself, she deliberately stepped light and watched the floor of the jungle for traps. Vehk too was quiet behind her, though he seemed much less on edge than she.

This did not surprise her, as he was loathe to alert any given opponent of his paranoia, a feeling she knew he kept close to himself. She believed he was nearly itching for a fight, after having been denied the privilege for so long now to face his opponents with the ferocity and mastery he prided himself in. Today, he had discarded his robe for a simple attire of silver breeches and sandals, shirtless as he preferred. She did not wear something unlike he wore, a simple blouse and breeches, her small red bag of belongings tied to her waist, white hair tied behind her as she had worn it several times in Molag Amur.

Her ears picked up on a crunch of the branches behind them, and she turned to face the source of the noise, slowly so that she did not give herself a way. The ones following them did not make themselves immediately known, but as soon as she heard an arrow rushing, she raised a ward and watched with curiosity as the arrow was pushed away, falling to the side. It was of Bosmeri make, this much she could tell from the deep brown of the crudely-made arrow that was finished with a multitude of feathers, a reminder of the Green Pact.

Another snap of wood, and two more arrows came towards them, stopped only by the sheer strength of the ward she supported with her left hand. After a few moments, a pair of dark eyes which were nearly black, appeared suddenly before her, peeking out from behind the large root of a tree. Above them, were markings and ritual scarring, and she could tell that the wearer of the gaze was not tall. The figure must have received a surge of bravery, for after several failed knocks from his companions' bows, he made himself known, appearing fully from the thicket.

The group were tribal, but they wore breeches of Imperial make along with bows of a make she had yet to see, and she surmised that they were the pirates S'rravi had asked them to clear. Ilsme's chin lifted, preparing a diplomatic speech, though she knew that this would end far from diplomatically.

"Come quietly, and my companion and I may forgive your poor welcome to this fair country. We have sailed the southern sea, not unlike you, I believe. You have little to fear from us." She said, watching the group of Bosmeri pirates look from her and Vehk to one another in distrust and eventually, they must've decided that it was safe to speak with her.

"What are you doin' here, then?" The one she assumed was their leader spoke in a thick accent, an accent she hadn't heard since her time in the Heartland, "We ain't never seen you around here before. Give us a good reason not to rob you clean, outsider."

The corner of Ilsme's lips quirked up at the threat of bravado that left the leader's mouth, aware that if they knew who they were threatening, they would likely turn tail and run. Though this was not fair to them, and so she would keep her mouth closed on that matter, and instead watched Vehk out of the corner of her eye, who was watching the leader with his intense, red gaze which was glittering with amusement, his face otherwise bereft of any other indication of what he was feeling.

"I believe you have seen reason enough from your failed attempts at piercing us with your crude weapons. If it be a fight you want, we will gladly face you, and I believe you owe us the honor of first blow this time. Is that fair to assume?"

Before they were given leave to answer, Vehk's spear was launched in the heart of one of the pirates who stood by their leader, surprising them and nearly surprising her. They were only two, and the group was nearly ten, and that was not counting the ones who could be hiding in the thickets of the jungle with their poisoned arrows, which she doubted Vehk feared. With the confidence of a master, he retrieved his spear in the midst of the chaos currently consuming the group, who immediately rushed to the defense, whereas she and Vehk launched their offense.

Within moments, Ilsme was rushing with her spear, taking her opponents out with a speedy finesse she was renowned for. The bones and chimes comprising the headpieces of the Bosmeri pirates jingled as they rushed to form some kind of defense against the two, but it was clumsy and they were unable to dodge the sheer force and magnitude of Vehk's ebony spear as he danced, utterly dominating them, a familiar sight that stirred the long-lost kinship Nerevar had with him, reminding her of the countless fights they'd fought together, the two of them against all odds.

It did not take long for them to finish the party of smugglers, who'd dropped amazingly quickly to their superior combination of speed and experience. For both, the experience of a thousand years led them to utterly annihilating opposition, and for Vehk it was his confident stride that contrasted with his proclivity for slippery duplicity, reminiscent of the serpent and the fox. For her, it was the countless memories of Nerevar's stratagems and her own celerity, and a smile crept up her lips at the familiar feeling of fighting alongside him, and she awarded him this by facing the mer, who now watched her with an arrogance he so rarely let slip onto his face these days.

"A worthy thrust, Ilsme. Perhaps you do not have as much to learn as I initially thought?" He asked cheekily, and this time, she let an uncharacteristically cheerful laugh escape her lips at the teasing which was so common between he and Nerevar before.

The rush of the fight died slowly, and was replaced by a profound sense of liberation in its stead. Indeed, it was liberating to be faceless to all but him, in a place where her name was unspoken.


End file.
